The beauty of a get-away

My blog and I have been on vacation, along with my Fort Worth family. We spent a few days in the Pecos River area of New Mexico, at the cabin of good friends. And we had a wonderful time. I have always been drawn to New Mexico—I swore I wanted to move to Santa Fe but had to content myself with visits. This time I saw an entirely different part of the state—high mountains in the Santa Fe National Forest. I learned again that I love the scenery, the fresh air, the crisp temperatures—and I loathe mountain driving, even as a passenger. I am white-knuckled on hairpin curves. Nonetheless, I wouldn’t have missed a minute of it.

Jacob at Cowles pond

We went ostensibly so Jacob could fish—the Pecos is a fast-moving, shallow, freezing cold river full rainbow and brown trout. Jacob fished several times, once with a guide who is a neighbor of our friends and gave him a slow introduction into casting in fast mountain water. The first evening there he and our friends’ grandson caught their limit or close to it---and we had pan-fried trout for dinner.

Castenada Hotel by the railroad

Armand Hammer University

I expected to spend my days working at my computer while the guys fished but not so. We went into Santa Fe one day—highlight of the day was a prolonged happy hour at La Fonda. Another day we explored Las Vegas (NM). It’s an unexpected treasure of a town with a rich heritage, a history full of outlaws and railroads and mining. We had lunch in a historic hotel and then stopped for drinks at the restored hotel by the railroad tracks. Drove out in the country to see Armand Hammer University—in a castle-like building, although we couldn’t get close to it.

More on New Mexico tomorrow, maybe on the food, and on the wind turbines that are all over northwest Texas.

The Birthday goes on....and a new bookstore

The birthday goes on…yesterday’s four-hour fishing trip on Lake Lewisville, with a guide, was apparently a raging success. Jordan reports they caught twenty-three fish, and she herself caught four. Quote: Jacob had a blast. Then they went to Jacob’s other grandparents for a Mexican feast and birthday cake.

The fun continued today when Christian took Jacob and a friend to a golf course—haven’t gotten the report on that, but from the picture it looks like a success. I was a bit dismayed that they got a cart—in my day (you know, ancient times), the virtue of golf was that you walked. Okay, I know it was hot today, but then again, I remember Christian telling me fishing is not an aerobic activity. Neither is golf if you ride in a cart.

For me, a lazy Saturday with a good book. I’m reading a novel called Cooking for Picasso. Apparently at some point, during his bitter divorce from Russian ballerina Olga, Picasso went to the south of France and rented a villa. His one wish was to remain anonymous. He ordered his food from a small café, and the owner’s teenage daughter, Ondine, was tasked with bringing it to him every day at noon. The relationship that developed is only part of the story, though I haven’t gotten very far into the work.

But it seems that the Ondine/Picasso story, which is probably true, is wrapped in a contemporary story—and mystery—told by Ondine’s granddaughter. So far, I’m enjoying it.

Hooray! Fort Worth has another new independent bookstore. Commonplace Books in the West Bend shopping area had its grand opening today, after three weeks of a successful soft opening. It’s a pop-up store, designed to last a year unless it becomes a raging success and they decide to stay longer. Jordan and I went to explore in the late afternoon. This is not a store where you go for the latest NYTimes bestsellers. The selection of titles is offbeat, sometimes obscure, and always fascinating. Books are not categorized by genre in the usual manner but by categories of the owners’ design—the Intentionalist, the Achiever, the Explorer the Historian, and so on. Jordan found a book that really intrigued her: Around the World in 80 Cocktails. We know people for whom that would be a perfect gift. She also found books that she thought would interest Jacob, and the salesperson talked with us about her younger brother and what he is reading.

A bonus: a lovely dog wanders the store. Agnes is a cross of poodle and Bernese mountain dog, big, gentle, and quite shy. Occasionally she gets frightened and searches for Caitlin, her owner who will be manning the store daily.

I had searched in old purses and other hideaways at home until I found a presentable business card, which I presented when I introduced myself as a local author. My hope is they will be curious enough to google—my web site gives some credibility. Anyone can walk in and say, I’m a local author. Hope they investigate further.

Inner Fort Worth has at least one other indie bookstore—Leaves, which is south of downtown (in the newly trendy South Main area) and sells tea and books. I would like to visit and intend to, but the reviews we have read suggest that the tea offerings get the most attention and the books are secondary.

On the way home, we detoured by Railhead, and I brought home a chopped beef sandwich and cole slaw for my dinner. A Texas treat.

Flotsam and jetsam

It’s pretty much been a shipwreck kind of a week. But the high point is Jacob’s birthday—tomorrow, his thirteenth. He turns into a teen. But. he got his “Juju” present early because who can disguise a fishing pole when it comes in a long, skinny box. Yes, he has other poles, but this was a special one that he was excited about. He brought the package out to the cottage to open, and I’m sorry to say that I wasn’t quick enough to grab the phone and capture a picture as he pulled the pole (protected in a fabric sheath) out of the box. The happiness on his face was magical. He took it fishing that day and caught one small fish.

Today he came out to the cottage to ask, “Did I tell you I caught a fish with he pole you got me?” I assured him he had. I am so delighted with his absorption with fishing—it gets him out in the great outdoors and away from TV, iPad, and phone. I haven’t heard a word about “Fortnight” in months. But as Christian pointed out to me, fishing is not an aerobic exercise.

Otherwise it’s been a week of checking things off the to-do bucket list. The pest control people sprayed the back yard with what they assure me is an organic mixture, mostly eucalyptus and rosemary. It’s the remaining ingredients I should have asked about, but the deed is done and supposedly good for ninety days.

Next to check off the lists was the dentist. The hygienist cleaned my teeth and turned to her computer to write up her notes, but her keyboard was dead. She protested she’d just put a battery in it the day before, but it was clearly dead. I came home, booted up my computer—and my keyboard was dead. I called the dentist’s office and asked them to tell Stephanie, the hygienist, that she’s a jinx. Then I ordered a new keyboard. I have no idea what Stephanie did.

Jacob and I went to pick up dog food at the vet’s, with him pointing out one-way streets to me and prodding me to go the second a light turned green. I finally told him I am sure he’ll be a good driver because he’s had so much experience telling me what to do. “It doesn’t seem very complicated,” he replied with assurance.

Tomorrow, before the birthday celebrations begin, he will help me take Sophie to the vet for her annual checkup and then we’ll scoot out to Central Market to pick up groceries for dinner. He’s requested shrimp, mashed potatoes, and asparagus. No cake, though his mother baked one. “We have to have a cake for us,” Christian explained.

A week of storms too. Unexpected, unpredicted rain on Monday, a sprinkle on Tuesday when we were told it would be clear and dry all day, and then a thunder-rumbling storm in the night that had Sophie cuddled as close to me as she could get. Tonight they predicted violent storms with large hail—so far, sunny blue skies.

I’ve gotten a bit of work done, an anonymous mystery synopsis and sample critiqued for a program of Sisters in Crime and a manuscript read and recommendations submitted to an academic press. I missed some blogs because of the keyboard problem, although tonight, knock on wood, I find I can do pretty well on the laptop keyboard. Every once in a while, for no reason, it wipes out whatever I’ve just done. I need to get back to my major work in progress, but I am waiting—and hoping—for inspiration to strike. Perhaps I’ve just let it sit idle for too long.

It’s also been a week of ethnic meals—sushi for lunch at my favorite Japanese place the other day and, tonight, enchiladas at a Mexican place I’ve never been to. I was impressed that when we asked for boxes, the waiter not only boxed our leftovers but brought clean flatware to transfer it. And he worked hard to clean the floor under a table near us where teenagers had made a holy mess with chips.

All in all, an odd week but not really a bad one.

A milestone day

Taking communion after  baptism

Jacob Burton was baptized today, a milestone in his life and in ours. We attend University Christian Church, where they baptize by immersion. Jacob was admittedly quite nervous about this, but it went well, and he said when it came to the actual moment, he felt calm.

Proud grandmother

He certainly had a cheering section—Christian’s parents, his sister, her husband, and their two daughters, a couple of my friends, lots of Jordan’s friends, and several boys Jacob’s age. It was a great tribute to all of them that so many friends turned out to congratulate him. I got hugs from Jordan’s friends—and a couple from Jacob’s contemporaries—not

Jordan trying to get hug

from Jacob

the boys, of course. They’re at the hug-resistant age.

Afterwards we went to the Star Café in the Stockyards. My friends Betty and Don Boles own the café and treated us like royalty—flowers on the table, a cake with Jacob’s name on it. Most people ordered chicken fried steak, and it met with high praise. Conversation was light and flowing.

We came home, with the Burton clan, for more cake, but I gave up—I was full and sleepy and had a good nap.

Baptism is a serious step for a youngster, and Jacob was told that he did not have to do it. He’s the right age, in our church, and he’d been going to the Discipleship class, but it was still his decision. And he decided he wanted to do it—which, to me, made it all the more meaningful. I have a funny take on baptism, mostly because I was sprinkled as an infant in the Methodist Church. I tend to take it for granted and not to realize what a momentous moment it is the lives of young people. Maybe it’s partly my long-ago background as a northerner. But I’m learning And tonight, I’m proud and grateful.

It does remind me of a friend who wrote, remembering her immersion baptism now many many years ago, that her thought was, “Well, at least that’s taken care of!” I think Jacob may feel a bit that way too.

So what do young boys do after the experience of baptism? Jacob and his buddies went fishing.

A big dose of family, a birthday, and a dog

The Alter en masse

Catching up with UncleMark

We had a glorious family reunion this weekend at my oldest son’s house in Tomball to celebrate his 50^th birthday. Twenty-four of us—my clan of sixteen; the New York Alters which includes Uncle Mark and Aunt Amy, two daughters, and three grandchildren young enough to still care about hunting for Easter eggs; and my children’s half-sister from California. High times as we caught up and repeated family stories, all the while sitting on an arbor-covered patio by a small lake.

Colin’s house is a little bit of heaven—a mid-century modern structure set on two-plus acres tucked away down a bumpy dirt road, with lots of trees, including some fruit-bearing, and either the smallest lake or biggest pond in Texas. The barn is used for storage, and the riding arena for basketball and other non-arena activities (there is a riding stable next door) but both can be re-purposed someday.. I think my favorite spot in the world these days is in a rocker by the lake at twiligh

Fishing was a big thing. Jacob abandoned his cousins (several are all about the same age) to stand alone on the lake’s bank, casting his lure. His California aunt, Dylan, joined him frequently, and he was as excited as anybody when she reeled in the catch of the day—what appeared to be about a four-pound bass. He came running and posed for a picture with her, but he also caught some good-sized ones on his own. Three boy cousins and one girl spent the night on an enclosed trampoline. They’ve tried this two or three times before, and something always chased them inside, but last night they stayed and slept until six in the morning. Yes, Jacob slept part of the way home.

Colin’s wife, Lisa, had done a might work of preparing for this weekend. We were well-fed, with fajitas Friday night and barbecue Saturday night, plus chips, veggies, dips, and the like out all during the day. We dined at three long picnic tables pushed together down by the lake, and the tables were decorated with mason jars holding on spikes pictures from Colin’s life—mostly his childhood. Colin on his Shetland, Charlie Brown; Colin with his cousins; Colin in the North Carolina snow wearing plastic bags on his feet (age two) because he didn’t own boots; an adult Colin just after finishing a half-marathon. For me, each picture brought a twinge of memory—a bit of missing for all the good days gone by, in spite of the wonderful present.

It was also a dog weekend. A stray came up to the patio for the second day in a row. I thought he was a pit bull but wiser heads said he’s an American bulldog. Uncle Mark swore he materialized out of the lake and was an evil spirit. In truth, he was a very young and lonely dog hungry for affection. Colin soon gave up attempts to shoo him away, and Dylan reached out to him until he lost his scared. Our family predicts the Tomball Alters will have a second dog. Jordan named him John Doe, which may or may not get changed to Johnboy or J.D. Colin’s dog, Gracie, was not entirely happy about this intruder.

We are all home now, and the weekend is but a happy memory, but we’ll each treasure that memory. Sophie was ecstatic to see us come home, and for all the fun I had, I was glad to be with her again.

Just realized this post has no picture of the birthday boy, so here he is with his dog, Gracie.

Flowers, food, and happiness

Jordan, Christian, and even Jacob did yard work this past weekend, getting us ready for spring. Jacob would rather have been fishing, thank you very much, but this morning he was elated that he caught (and released) six bass last night. Back to the garden=-they even swept the cobwebs off my house, something I was afraid to try for fear of losing my balance—I had a graphic vision of one hand wielding the broom and the other desperately clutching the walker—and the whole thing dumping over, me included. So thanks to Christian for that chore. And to Jordan for planting all those wonderful things we bought. And to Jacob for emptying my overflowing garbage.

The back yard (my domain) is beginning to look good. Much of the day I sit at my desk, with a big window to my right and French doors dead ahead, so spring beauty is important to me. Christian has put his big bougainvillea out on the deck railing, where I have a clear view of it, and I’m just waiting for it to bloom. I can’t see the hydrangeas in the bed directly under my office window, but I when they bloom I will see them as I come in the driveway. The patio is alive with purple phlox (we’ll replace with plumbago when the phlox dies out), daisies, and bright red geraniums. Patio weather coming up!

I am thoroughly enjoying the NYT Cooking Community page on Facebook. On a lengthy thread the other day, someone posted that they fried polenta in butter and served it with maple syrup for breakfast. I immediately replied that we had that when I was a kid, but my mom called it fried mush. Nothing would do but that I get some polenta, and this morning I had fried mush with maple syrup. So good.

Yesterday was fried chicken day—lunch at Button’s with a friend (they have the best fried chicken in town—hold out for the old-fashioned bone-in, none of this chicken-fried chicken stuff). Ate one piece, with mashed potatoes and green beans, and brought the other piece home. With a salad and fresh raspberries (an indulgence on my part), it made a great meal. Unlike a lot of leftovers, it didn’t lose its flavor.

Then this morning I got hooked on one of those internet sites that gives you the iconic meal for each state. You know what Texas’ is—no, not barbecue, but chicken-fried steak. There were a couple of Polish and Russian dishes that I was surprised to see, but the New Jersey dish is a ham roll sandwich for breakfast—thinly sliced Taylor’s pork roll (It’s pork, not ham) with cheddar cheese and a fried egg. Yum.

I’ve been thinking about happiness and what dour, unhappy people most Republican politicians seem to be. I read that the trump administration is considering tracking the disabled on social media to see if they’re “too happy” and therefore not qualified for disability benefits. How miserable you must be yourself to decide others are too happy. It seems they want to do everything they can to make us unhappy—cutting benefits from food, health, and education, cutting veteran benefits, polluting our world. I pity them for their antagonistic view of life.

As for me, I choose to be happy. How about you?

A demolition report and a day with lots of irons in the fire

It’s really nice to have a son-in-law who pays attention o my books. Brandon sent this demolition picture with the explanation that they found a dead space next to grandson Sawyer’s closet but, alas, there was no skeleton. Some may remember that my first mystery was Skeleton in a Dead Space; that dead space, like the one in my house, was in the kitchen. Haven’t read it? I think it’s one of my best mysteries. And I love that Brandon saw the connection.

Megan reported about five that grandson Ford and friends were having fun tearing out walls, and she was going home to join them. So demolition proceeds but apparently won’t be total for a couple of weeks. Meantime, what excitement for teen boys.

And the local teen is fishing with his grandfather. He called to ask if the tanks on his uncle’s ranch are stocked. The answer is yes, years ago, but the only way to find out if there are still fish is to go fishing. Jacob said we’d plan a day at the ranch, but then he said, “Juju, when you say tanks, do you mean the ponds?” I told him tank is Texas-speak for pond, and he would have to work on his vocabulary.

For me, a busy day, which I like. When I was in my late teens, I was my father’s secretary—he was administrator of a hospital. I always swore that experience made me a perfect executive secretary, though heaven forbid we should refer to a woman that way today. But I can clear a desk of lots of projects in one big sweep. And I like it that way.

Today I met with a co-conspirator about forming a local group of Better Angels, the national organization that brings together people of opposing political opinions for moderated discussions—no arguing, no proselytizing, just learning from one another. I pretty much secured our church as a meeting place and began to compile a list of interested participants—if you’re interested, please let me know. I set in motion a blog tour for my cookbook, Gourmet on a Hot Plate, and committed to write five blogs by early April. I emailed my accountant that I had finished my tax organizer and was ready to turn it over to him. I straightened out some prescription confusion--always a time-consuming chore as you get left on hold. But the biggie was that I got the edits back on the Alamo manuscript, which means I have a lot to do immediately—dealing with edits, adding some new material, and compiling a complete list of photos. I actually love waking up in the morning and knowing that projects like this are waiting for me.

The mystery I’ve been doodling along goes to one side, though I did make enough notes that I would know where to pick it up. A good day, and I’m a happy camper.

Marching John McCain Home

Jacob and his 30 lb. carp, caught a couple of years ago. Now that's fishing!

Rough night at my house. Sophie’s shrill bark awakened me about 2:30. She saw a critter in the yard and demanded to be let out to deal with it. My voice was no softer as I yelled that she was not going to go out in the night after a critter. I distracted her, I hoped, with a treat. But Sophie was offended, and she does not suffer in silence—scratching on the carpet, little thumps and bumps, just enough to keep one awake. Finally, at six a.m., outright barking. I let her out, she came right back in, and settled down.

So I was almost as tired as the McCain family this morning as I watched the ceremony. It occurred to me that family—and the late Senator—gave us a great gift by sharing their grief so publicly. My heart broke more than once this week as Meghan McCain struggled to keep her composure—and sometimes lost. I loved the image of her holding her grandmother’s hand—we’ll never know who was comforting who. And I too had tears when Cindy McCain nearly fell apart during the singing of “Danny Boy”—my mom’s favorite song, and it always brings tears to my eyes.

We’ve had four days of public mourning. Surely it would have been easier on the family to have a small, more private funeral in Arizona. But they knew what the late Senator wanted, and they knew their obligation to the country. Everything all week was done with class and grace—the music magnificent, the eulogies eloquent.

And in those eulogies, from Meghan’s to President Obama, the words were of unity, of shared values, of reaching beyond ourselves to serve a greater cause. In many ways, today’s service was not about Senator McCain—it was about the United States of America. It was, subtly spoken, a call to action to those of us who will go to the polls in November. I hope and believe the country heard it as such.

Sophie slept through the whole thing. Bless her heart, she’s exhausted.

Jacob has gone to his other grandparents for the weekend. When he came out to say goodbye, I asked if he as excited about going fishing with Poppy. His reaction was “so-so.” “We didn’t catch anything last time,” he explained. So I posed that age-old question: is it the catch or is it the act of fishing that matters. “The catch,” he said swiftly. “That’s why you fish.” Since he is a catch-and-release fisherman that puzzled me (his grandmother would never clean and cook his trophies). I guess we need to wait for a bit more maturity before he sees the value in the art of fishing. It’s not all about the catch.

Meanwhile, tonight I will watch the NBC Special on McCain. You know that old saying that we are all, “Just walking each other home”? Sometimes you hear it as singing someone home. A friend posted about the music at Aretha Franklin’s funeral and ended simply with, “She’s home now.” I think what the nation did today was to march John McCain home with lock-step military precision. He would like that.

The blessedness of rain

Rain was predicted for the early morning hours today, but I woke to dry sidewalks, a lovely breeze tossing the trees about, and gloomy skies that could easily hold rain. By ten o’clock, there was a bit of thunder rumble and some sprinkles on the back-yard walk. But most blessed was that unmistakable, wonderful smell of rain. And the weatherman predicated a high of 88. A gift from the gods as we head into August.

It proved to be an illusion. It apparently rained all around us but not on us. And my indoor/outdoor thermometer said 97 at four o’clock. Nonetheless, Jordan and I did sit on the patio for a bit with wine, until I thought I was getting bitten. No see‘ums. For tonight, the weatherman predicts a 60% chance of rain between midnight and four in the morning. If it comes, I’ll sleep through it. But I pray to wake to wet sidewalks.

Proof that my boys are fishermen: here are Jacob with his fish, and Uncle Colin with his. They threw the fish back, of course, to catch another day. But both were pretty proud of themselves and their catch.

Megan likes to joke that the planning-ahead gene missed her but landed squarely on Jordan. Like me, Jordan plans ahead. For large parties, we put serving dishes out days ahead with notes in them about what goes in each. That once led Christian, when they were newly married, to tell her, “You and your mother have a screw loose.” We don’t think so. For trips, we begin packing a week or more ahead. Megan starts to think about it the night before her family has a five o’clock in the morning flight.

Now, Jordan and I are thinking ahead to our Great Lakes cruise. We leave August 23, but tonight she started going through my closet, pulling out and setting aside clothes I might take. Anticipation is part of the fun of a trip. But I did email Megan about our early packing—she’ll have a good laugh.

Saw an interesting clip on Facebook today about the conversations black parents have with their children to prepare them to survive in a world where white supremacy reigns. It’s about what to do when the police pull you over—not IF they pull you over but WHEN, because it’s inevitable. And then the zinger of a line: it will be your fault, because you’re black. Bingo!  How many times have my kids said to me, “Mom, if there’s an accident when you’re drivinf, it will be your fault, because you’re old.” Won’t matter if I’m innocent—I’m old. Struck me that there’s a problem common to the elderly and to people of color. It’s the instant assumptions people make about us before they know us. My insight for the day.

And on that note, good night, sweet dreams.

There's a fisherman in the family--again!

This is an addendum to my post earlier tonight, because I just got pictures of Jacob's fish, and I have to brag on my grandson. It's a big moment in any fisherman's life when he catches the big one, and for an eleven-year-old to reel in a 30 lb. carp is a moment of triumph. He and his grandfather were fishing at a small lake in Coppell. They fished all week and Jacob caught some respectable-size fish, from bass to catfish. But the carp, at 30 lbs., was a triumph. It caused so much excitement that other fisherman put aside their poles and came to help him, since his line wasn't strong enough. That was one proud boy, and I'm proud to add that he and his grandfather are catch-and-release fishermen. I hope his uncles, who had their own fishing phases, see this.

Hi, ho, hi, ho. Home again@

I’m back, with apologies for the hiatus. I’ve been in Tomball visiting Colin, my oldest son, and his wonderful family. Jacob went with me to play and hang out with his cousins Morgan, almost twelve, and Kegan, nine. They swam and fished, swam and fished, swam and fished. Jacob caught the most—five fish, including a catfish, first caught in the lake by anyone in our circle. The kids also made s’mores over an open fire, had a water balloon fight, ate snow cones, jumped on the trampoline, went to a movie, went to Top Golf, made their own pizzas and sundaes, and did a thousand other things I can’t think of right now. Aunt Lisa was Camp Tomball Director, and she kept them busy and happy. Last night I asked Jacob if he wanted to go home or stay there, and he said he wanted to stay there the rest of his life.
I should explain. Colin and Lisa live in the country, down a skinny gravel road, outside Tomball. They have a ‘50s moderne house on about three acres with wonderful landscaping that’s been in place long enough to mature, a  small lake (or large pond), and new this year, a wonderful swimming pool.
I also took Sophie, and all three grandkids were good about walking her, and she herself was good as gold—got along with their shepherd mix (even though they ate each other’s food). She slept all night—sometimes on the couch, which was verboten—didn’t mess in the house, was just generally well behaved. And she loved the company, pitched a fit the couple of times we went out and left her.
My days fell into a wonderful pattern. I set up an office at the end of the dining table where I could look to the left at the swimming pool and straight ahead at the lake. I worked at my computer until lunch, read a bit after lunch, napped, and before I knew it, it was dinner time. My favorite time of the day came after supper when we took wine down to the lake and sat enjoying the company, the place, our world in general.

Colin worked hard, building makeshift ramps, etc. to make the house safe for me. And both of them waited on me hand and foot until I am if possible more spoiled than Jordan has made me. Lisa would constantly say, “Drink water. If you don’t Jordan’s going to kill me.” Both Colin and Lisa were around most of the time. Colin even worked from home all but a day and a half, and Lisa, a teacher on summer break, had some appointments but was home or entertaining kids most of the time.
All in all, it was a wonderful week. But this morning, Megan, my oldest daughter, and her nine-year-old son Ford, drove from Austin to Tomball to get us and we came home to Fort Worth. Ford and Jacob will be in the TCU Baseball Camp all week, and Megan will stay with me. She has work to do so I may get a little done, but I’m not counting on it.

A little bit of heaven on earth

Notice the dog lying in the middle of their picnic.

 

I've just spent a good part of my weekend sitting by a small--really small--lake, watching three of my grandchildren swim, fish, catch tadpoles and generally enjoy life in the country. My oldest son and his wife, Colin and Lisa, have bought a house with character and interest, set amongst wonderful landscaping someone did at no spared expense years ago, and on a small lake--too big to be a stock tank, but a really small lake. Colin says it's not six acres, so I'm guessing it's four. Their property takes in about a quarter of the shoreline. We visited, we ate, we read, we had happy hour--all by the lake, usually with a wonderful breeze. Fun to watch cousins having such a good time together. Morgan, at nine, is the real outdoor girl...loves the bugs and frogs (good at catching baby frogs but lets them go), good at swimming, loves living in the country. Kegan, just turned seven is not quite as much into it but he swims and was quite serious about his fishing.

Jacob woke up every morning feeling like a new adventure waited for him. In the picture above, they're trying to "water catch" fish as Jacob said. When his uncle told him about noodling, he said, "I'm never doing that in my whole lifetime" (for the uninitiated, you stick an arm in the water, a catfish bites, taking  your whole hand in its mouth, and you catch it by pulling your arm out of the water, catfish attached (Colin, have we fallen for a tall tale here?)
The property has lots of banana tress, a few palms, an apple, pear, fig, and peach tree, crepe myrtle, hedges galore, flagstone walkways that lead to concrete circles around trees, a riding arena, and a two-stall barn. Next door is a commercial stable so if the kids ever want riding lessons, they're in a perfect place. (The only drawback to that is that the flies are really bad!) There are at least three patio areas by the lake, one covered with a wonderful arbor overgrown with old wisteria. Plus a covered patio up by the house and a screened-in porch. I said if it were me I'd be sleeping on the porch--but it is pretty humid down there even at night. And great but short shower-storms came through sporadically Saturday.
The house, built in 1950 and since upgraded and added onto, is really interesting--a huge room that will become office/TV room/workout room; a smallish kitchen area--storage adjustments are going to be called for, a huge room open to the kitchen which will be living area, and three bedrooms. Cedar paneling in the kitchen, gleaming hardwood floors throughout. A house with many possibilities that they've only begun to explore.
As Lisa says, this is where they'll grow old together. I added that the kids will think of their young years as spent in the country, suburban memories fading fast. A wonderful place for all of them, and I'm so happy about it. So pleased for them. It's a great place to visit too--if I could only figure out how to get their big sweet dog not to snarl at my lively, in-your-face small dog!